


Achilles' Heel

by bloominsummer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 04:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominsummer/pseuds/bloominsummer
Summary: The one time Stiles decided to speak up in class, he caught the attention of a stranger.





	Achilles' Heel

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic. No copyright infringement is intended.

It was his last class of the week and by the second period, Stiles felt like he’s done discussing whether Achilles and Patroclus were in love with each other or not. Half of the class thought they were, the other half are small-minded traditionalists who insisted they were not. It was obvious where Stiles stood on the matter.

His professor droned on for what felt like the hundredth time to Stiles, “Still, in the end, Homer didn’t mention anywhere in the _Iliad_ whether they were in a homosexual relationship or not. It’s all up for debate.”

“Their ashes are said to be buried in the same urn, per Achilles’ request. It wasn’t common for a prince and his companion during those times,” one of the girls from the front row quipped.

“That is true,” his professor nodded, stroking his beard as if the statement was incredibly thought-provoking.

Stiles isn’t the type to usually join in on discussions and gave out his opinion when not asked for it specifically, but he had the urge to put an end to the discussion.

He stood up since he was sitting quite far at the back. “What is also true is Achilles became so consumed with grief over the loss of Patroclus, that Zeus himself sent the gods to slow him down so that Troy would fall in time and not sooner because of his wrath. He sought out Hector, and when he did find him, he told him he could eat him raw for the pain he’s caused him. He didn’t or maybe couldn’t stop even after Hector was dead, parading Hector’s corpse in front of the gates of Troy by dragging him behind his chariot. If this was caused by a death of a woman close to Achilles, we wouldn’t be having this conversation about defining their relationship. It will be automatically translated as romantic, wouldn’t you say?”

Dr. Geller looked at him square in the eyes, nodding. _Again_. Stiles had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“I think you have a fairly good point there, Mr. Stilinski.”

And that was the end of their discussion about Achilles. They moved on to talk about Odysseus, but it was barely 10 minutes before the time was up and the class ended.

Stiles was shoving his laptop and pens into his bag when a figure to his right tried to initiate a conversation with him.

“Your point… it was more than fairly good.”

The voice was unbelievably euphonious and Stiles had rushed to turn around only to drop a couple of his stationeries to the floor. He bent down to get them and the stranger helped him. Stiles noticed his hand first. It was a he.

“Thanks,” he said when he’s standing straight again. He tried to observe the stranger discreetly, but it was hard not to stare at a work of art. “You taking this class or just passing by?”

“Taking the class,” he smirked. “I’ve sat behind you for a whole month.”

_Strike one for Stilinski._

“Ah, sorry. You just don’t seem the type. More like the business, management person.”

The guy looked offended. _Strike two._ “Did you just stereotype me?”

“No, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles backtracked as fast as he could. 

“I’m majoring in Art History actually,” he said. “You?”

“Engineering. This is just my breadth class.”

He nodded as if agreeing with Stiles’ life choices. “So you’re the type that takes Greek Classical and Mythology 2 for fun. I see. I’ll see you around then, Mr. Stilinski.”

“It’s Stiles.”

_Brooding, dark and tall_ , as Stiles had already labeled him in his head, raised his eyebrows at him questioningly. “Your parents named you Stiles?”

“It’s a nickname,” he hastily explained.

“What’s your real name?”

“Mieczyslaw.”

He didn’t laugh, nor did he seemed like he was trying not to, but he did hold up one hand towards Stiles. “Listen, I don’t want to insult you, but—“

“If you’re going to comment on my name, it’s already an insult.”

“No, it’s just that I think I can’t pronounce it properly, so I might have to stick with Stiles,” he replied. “Is that Polish though?”

It caught Stiles by surprise that the guy could identify the origin of his name without Googling it or even making any effort for that matter.

“Yes.”

“Okay, Stiles. I’d like to get coffee with you sometime and watch the barista cries bloody tears trying to spell out your real name,” he told him as he’s walking out the door.

* * *

 

Stiles told Scott about his encounter over pizza and Until Dawn that weekend. Scott listened as best as he could while devouring his third and then the fourth slice of American Favourite and at the same time throwing torches at Wendigos.

“And he was good looking?”

“Yes, for the fifth time, he looks like he’s sculpted by Michelangelo himself,” Stiles slammed his thumb on his controller to get his avatar climbing the cliff properly. “Huh. He does look a bit like David, actually.”

“Did you get his number? Dude, pick that shiny thing up.”

Stiles made his avatar bend over to get the totem that was hidden behind a bush.

“I didn’t even get his name, now that I think about it.”

Scott paused the game just to throw him an incredulous look.

“You need to be more conscious when you’re awake, you know?”

Stiles stared at him and sighed tiredly. “I’m an Engineering student specialising in Chemical Systems, Scott. A relationship is the last thing that should be on my mind right now. I thought you would be proud and supportive that I’m not actively seeking out company in other lonely college students.”

“You don’t have to be in a relationship, but you c=an still have a little action going on in the sex department. You _are_ in college, after all,” he resumed the game. “Damn! I knew it. That slimy Emily is cheating on Matt with Mike.”

Stiles thought that he had a good point. It’s already his third year in college but he was yet to have anything that resembled a real commitment except with his textbooks. He might not be ready for a relationship, but a hook-up was not the most terrible idea that Scott ever came up with. The guy from mythology class was definitely a couple of leagues out of his, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t find someone more suitable in the future. Some girls might even dig the whole nerd outlook.

Stiles made a mental note to offer his best friend ice cream from the fridge when they’re done playing as a silent thank you.

* * *

_GIVE ME CAFFEINE,_ Stiles’ brain screamed at him while he was already lining up at the coffee shop across his campus. He sometimes wished that there was a button to shut down his cerebrum for a period of time.

“Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles recognised his voice before anything else. He turned toward the source. 

“Hi, I would call you by your name except that I don’t know it.”

“It’s Derek,” he grinned. “Derek Hale.”

Out of thin air, a dark-haired girl appeared beside him with her hands crossed in front of her chest, giving Derek a look that said, ‘You’re ridiculous.’

“Why did you just introduce yourself in the James Bond tone—“ she noticed Stiles standing in front of her. “Oh, I see why. Hi there, I’m Cora,” she extended her hand and Stiles felt rude not to take it.

“Hello,” he greeted her. “Is this your girlfriend?”

The girl, Cora, laughed. “He wishes,” she said before walking away.

“That’s extremely nasty,” Derek shuddered. “No, she’s my baby sister. I’m sorry, she’s a little mentally deranged,” he made a gesture with his fingers pointed at his head.

“No problem at all, I do enjoy a good sibling banter.”

“You’ve got brothers? Sisters?”

“I’m an only child, actually.”

“Ah, the more you know,” he smiled at Stiles, and it was nothing short of blinding. “So, can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Stiles remembered their conversation from the week before, how Derek said he wanted to see another person fail miserably at spelling and pronouncing Stiles’ real name.

“I’m not going to harass the poor barista for your sake.”

“No terms and conditions apply to the coffee offer,” he said, crossing his heart.

Stiles felt like there’s no point of making a big deal of an acquaintance who just happened to want to buy him coffee, so he relented. “I like almond flat white.”

“Interesting,” Derek commented. “I had this feeling that you run solely on long blacks for some reason. Well, alrighty then. One almond flat white it is.”

Derek made his way to the counter and Stiles didn’t even bother to pretend that he didn’t watch him walk away while admiring the view. He had to eventually catch up with Derek, but he definitely liked what he saw.

* * *

Stiles found Derek occupying the seat next to his at their next class and he asked him as politely as possible what he’s done to the girl who used to sit there. Derek merely explained that he had asked the girl to switch seats with him and she agreed.

No one would ever blame her, Derek could’ve asked anyone to have his babies and they would’ve gone along with the idea without a second thought. It wasn’t because he was handsome, good-looking people are always out there, but because he had tremendous charisma. He’s one of those people you looked at and you think they have it all figured out. He probably did.

He asked Stiles if it was a problem because he could just move back to his original seat, but Stiles just shook his head and sat down without another word. That was how it all started. The conversation, the texting, the friendship. They didn’t meet a lot on campus beside in Mythology class due to their contrasting majors, but Stiles felt like they never stopped talking to each other between one class and the next.

One weekend, Scott pleaded with his kicked puppy look that always worked on Stiles, no matter what, to go to a party down the road because he wanted to see Allison, the girl in his Biology class. Allison, who in Scott’s own words, was the living definition of phenomenal. 

Coincidentally, he lost Scott 5 minutes into the party and bumped into Derek with a shot glass on his hand instead. 

“Hey! I never thought I’d see you here,” Derek yelled. Or at least Stiles thought he yelled, because with the music successfully blasting off their eardrums, Stiles couldn’t tell the difference. “You do know this is a party though, right?”

He tried his best to read Derek’s lips and made his own conclusion from there. “Scott wanted to go, there’s this girl he’s been trying to get together with—“

Derek stared at him, a wild look on his face. “What?!”

Maybe Stiles was talking too fast.

“Scott, he—“

“I can’t hear anything!” Derek laughed. He pointed his index finger upward. “Let’s go up!”

He left without even looking behind, yet Stiles followed him out of his own volition as Derek maneuvered his way through the sea of people, up the emergency staircase and through the door that led them to the roof. The night was chilly and Derek’s only wearing a thin, white T-shirt that made the rest of him more prominent to Stiles than ever, but he didn’t seem bothered by the wind.

“Much better here.”

Stiles shoved his hands into his hoodie’s pockets. “I just went along with Scott, that’s all.”

Derek climbed up to sit on the ledge, facing Stiles. “Scott, is that your friend?” Stiles nodded. “What about you? Nobody caught your attention?”

_I’m with him right now_ , he wanted to say.

He leaned against the concrete on the space next to Derek but didn’t follow in his movement. He’s not fond of the possibility of being caught by the wind and thrown off the roof. “I’m not big on relationships.”

“That’s a shame. Want one?” Stiles looked at him and was surprised to see him handing over a cigarette.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Derek retracted his hand and lighted the cigarette. “I don’t, either. Not usually.” He inhaled. 

“Just at parties? To keep up with the others? To fit in the artistic stereotype?”

He exhaled, the stream of smoke looking like mist in the dark of night.

Stiles watched him carefully.

“I only smoke when I’m completely, hopelessly stressed out. Just one or two,” he explained.

Stiles pulled out his hands from his pockets and started rubbing them together to generate heat. “I guess that’s better than smoking pot.”

“Then you certainly have never tried getting high,” Derek said, puffing smoke towards his right, away from Stiles. 

“And you have?”

Stiles got a blank stare for his question. Derek leaned forward slightly as if going to tell Stiles the secret of the universe. “That’s the college experience my friend.”

He inhaled again. Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off him. The routine, like any other routine, should be dull. It was just inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. There was nothing new about it, there was no element of surprise. Stiles always knew what to expect, what comes next.

Derek, though, he was the one who didn’t quite fit into the equation. He did it with such grace, such elegance, that he looked like a bar owner from the 1950s smoking pipe while running illegal activities through his back kitchen.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

He exhaled and discarded the ashes off the ledge.

“What’s the worst that can happen if you try it? You might get high and embarrass yourself?”

Stiles considered his question, turning his gaze away from Derek and towards the lights flickering in the distance.

“I might be allergic to some of the stuff in it, then I’ll have a seizure and die. Or worse, I’ll bloat like a balloon for a while and then die.”

Derek bit his lips, concerned with his answer. “Are you always this… intense?”

“Only when I’m awake,” he shrugged in reply.

Derek stared at him, his eyes bright. He put out his cigarette and jumped down from the ledge. “You’re funny. I like that.” He walked to the emergency door and this time, Stiles didn’t follow him. He wanted to see how Derek would react.

He opened the door and stopped to look back at Stiles. Stiles looked back at him, not saying anything.

“So, are you coming or what?”

Stiles couldn’t stop his feet from moving involuntarily even if he tried.

He did whatever Derek recommended him to do that night with the exception of smoking something other than cigarette until he got a phone call from Scott, telling him that he was ready to leave. He parted ways with Derek then, who made him promised to text him when he’s arrived safely back at his place. Stiles did exactly just that.

Scott was definitely euphoric by the end of the end, not only had he gotten Allison’s number and a time and place for their first date, but he had also gotten a kiss from his special lady. _A proper kiss, Stiles!_ as he said. Multiple times. 

Stiles felt happy. For Scott, mostly, and maybe a little bit for himself.

* * *

 

“I’ll see you tonight!” Scott called out from his car as they went their separate ways.

“What’s tonight?”

Stiles turned around so fast he almost gave himself a whiplash, but it was worth almost bumping into Derek’s face since he was so close to him Stiles could see the freckles on the bridge of his nose. 

“The hell, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Derek backed away. “I just saw you walking by and I thought I’d say hi.”

“You’re sweating terribly, you know that, right?”

_And it’s distracting as hell,_ Stiles thought. He couldn’t believe anyone actually looked as good as Derek did after what must be a horrifying work out session.

“I was playing basketball with the guys,” he pointed towards the court behind him with his thumb.

Stiles eyed said guys. “The guys meaning the university’s team? Are _you_ on the team?

Derek’s hands rested on his hips and Stiles followed their movement.

“Nah, I just play for fun. They were missing one person.”

“You do sports for fun… of course. Well, I should let you get back to it since they look like they’re waiting for you.” 

They weren’t, but it was getting a little uncomfortable for Stiles to be standing there with Derek when there were people watching them. Derek didn’t take any of his shit, though.

“You don’t want to be seen with me, do you?”

“I’m pretty sure _I’m_ the one dragging your social status down,” he scoffed. He meant it as a joke, but it came out more as self-hatred concealed in a punchline.

“I,” Derek bent down a little to get on Stiles’ eye-level and put his hands on Stiles’ shoulder, which immediately felt like they’re burning, “don’t give a shit about that.”

Stiles searched his eyes and didn’t find one hint of trickery. He took a step backward and Derek’s hands fell back to his side.

“I believe you. I really do need to go though. I have to clean up my place since my friends are planning to come over and ransack it tonight.”

“Am I invited?” Derek asked.

“Sure, if you’re free,” _shit._ “Why not?” _Shitshitshitshitshiiiit_.

Now Stiles would have to do extra cleaning to make sure his room looked acceptable to Derek and not just the regular crowd.

“Cool, text me the address and I’ll make sure I take a shower before I go there,” Derek promised.

Stiles gave him a smile. “Okay, the shower is much appreciated.”

* * *

 

Derek effortlessly and unsurprisingly, bonded with the whole gang over the course of their introductions to each other. That was it. The verdict came out real fast: they loved the guy. The first hour of the hangout became a huge round of 20-questions game for them to know Derek better.

Stiles laid down on the couch and listened to them while eating potato chips, not even trying to get a turn asking Derek questions. Derek would turn his way once in awhile and gave him a reserved smile, but nothing more. He enjoyed the company and Stiles couldn’t help but feel glad, for reasons yet to be determined.

Lydia leaned in a little to close to Derek then and it made Stiles felt things he didn’t want to admit. “So you’re favourite band of all time is Green Day, Derek? Really?”

“Yep. Right now it's Panic! at the Disco, but I used to worship Green Day so much it was embarrassing,” he affirmed. “They honestly don’t give two shits about their reputation. They invited this openly gay band, I think it was called the Pansy Division or something like that, to open for them just because they can even though they were still at the start at their careers. That was awesome.”

“It’s about their personality rather than their music, then?” she queried. 

“Their music is cool too, but it’s like a plus to their spunk, you know? I just don’t see myself enjoying something that’s created by someone I dislike on principle. Look at all the Woody Allen sexual scandals, every time I see the title of his movies I would go like, ‘this guy made this movie and people endorsed it which ended in him having the power and privilege to get his dirty hands on innocent young women.’ And that ruined all of his movies for me.”

It wasn’t fair that Derek had to be all that he already was and turned out to be a decent person at the same time. Finding fault on this guy was like finding a needle in a sea of haystacks, and even that was still an understatement. He was _good_ and it terrified Stiles to the core.

Lydia twirled her hair with her fingers in agreement. “That is a very interesting take.”

“Which means, in Lydia’s language, the correct take,” Allison commented. She was new to the group, but she was perceptive as she was pretty and Lydia had taken an immediate liking toward her, deeming her worthy of the ‘new best-friend’ title.

Derek perked up. “I get the seal of approval then?”

“More or less,” Stiles answered for him.

Derek chuckled and stood up. “Which way is the bathroom, again?” he asked to no one in particular.

“That way,” Scott pointed out.

“Cool, be right back.”

As soon as he was out of hearing distance, Stiles faced the situation he was preparing for the whole night. His friends, all of them, even Malia, who was usually in her own headspace, turned to look at him one by one without fail.

Isaac was the first to start. “I like this one.”

“Can we keep him?” Kira followed right after.

“Please, Stiles,” Allison gave him an encouraging smile.

Stiles sighed and sat up straight, giving his friends the soberest look he could conjure up on his face. “He’s not a wild animal, and I’m not his keeper.”

They were silent for awhile, but then Lydia swooned out an, “He _knows_ things,” and they were whispering their opinions to each other rather loudly until Derek got back in the room. 

“I’m gonna order Chinese,” Scott suddenly announced. If anything, it saved Stiles from having to put leashes on his friends to stop them from pursuing the topic because they were focused shouting their orders into Scott’s ears instead.

Derek sat down next to Stiles and started gently tracing the books on the shelves to his right with his finger. He found one interesting enough to make a conversation about and he did exactly just that with Stiles while the others were busy catching up with each other’s lives. Stiles entertained him. After all, he needed to make up for the fact that the people he called friends had been pestering Derek for a good sixty minutes before they deemed him acceptable to be left alone.

“You’re saying that you like _The Sun Also Rises_ better than _The Old Man and the Sea_?” Derek asked him, dubious. 

“Well, yeah.”

He waved his hand around in dismissal. “Whatever, I’m not buying your crap.”

“What? I’m quite credible,” Stiles feigned annoyance.

“You could choose any nickname in the world like ‘Billy Bob Banger’ or ‘YMCA’ and you chose ‘ _Stiles’_. You’re not credible at all. You’re actually the opposite of credible. Zero credibility for you.” 

“You’d prefer that I let people call me YMCA instead of Sties?”

Derek fixed his gaze on Stiles and shrugged. “It does sound way much cooler.”

“For you, maybe. Everything is entertainment for you.”

“That’s the only way I know how to live life. _‘All’s the world’s a stage, and_ **_all_ ** _the men and women merely players.’_ I’m making the world my entertainment.”

Derek took the last gulp of his beer and got up to get himself another one. Stiles let his eyes followed his broad shoulders until he realised what he was doing. He averted them and they met Lydia’s. She gave him a knowing look and in that instant, Stiles knew that she had seen right through his act of nonchalantness. Lydia always figured things out first before all the others follow in her footsteps. 

Stiles was in deep shit trouble.

* * *

 

Over lunch the next Monday, Lydia posed a question before him that he should’ve known would have more meaning that it initially seemed.

“Stiles, do you know why little boys pull little girls’ ponytails in elementary school?”

He was baffled by the question since it came out of nowhere, completely unprompted. He was tempted to give her shit but thought better of it. Lydia is not the kind of person you gave shit to.

“Because… they like the girl?” he answered, unsure what she expected of him.

“Exactly,” she nodded.

Stiles didn’t have any clue what she was talking about, but the look she was giving him meant that she expected him to understand her.

“I’m not following you.”

She narrowed her eyes as if suspicious that Stiles was faking incomprehension. “Derek’s been pulling your figurative ponytail for months now,” she pointed out.

And Stiles thought, _fuck_. 

He didn’t know what to do with that information. He didn’t know if it would be better to speak or to die, as asked by the book the read recently about unabashedly celebrating love. He didn’t even know if it were true, though Lydia was hardly ever wrong.

* * *

The rest of Stiles’ day went so uneventful to the point that he wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing until he’s walking on the sidewalk on the way home and Derek pulled up on the side of the road—driving a black two-doors car—and called him out.

“Hey! You busy?”

Stiles stopped. “No, just walking back to my dorm.”

“Come over to my place,” Derek suggested. That easy. Everything came easy for him, which only made it harder on Stiles.

Derek opened the passenger door for him from the inside and Stiles jumped in. The inside of the car was bigger than it looked on the outside, but there still wasn’t enough space to move around. Derek reached around to put his seatbelt on, successfully making Stiles felt like a toddler in the process. He nodded to himself after that, clearly satisfied that he’s made sure of Stiles’ safety, and hit the gas.

“I’ve never actually been to your place,” Stiles commented after they’ve spent a good five minutes in comfortable silence.

Derek cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s not big but it’s comfy.”

That was maybe the first lie Derek’s ever told him, because as soon as they pulled on the parking lot of the building, Stiles knew it was not going to be as modest as Derek initially led him to believe. It was an apartment, not a house, but you couldn’t tell that it wasn't once you’re inside.

“This is big,” Stiles said in an accusatory tone after Derek unlocked the door and let him in.

Derek put his keys in the bowl next to the front door and took off his jacket. He threw it carelessly toward the sofa and it landed with a soft thud on the cushion.

“I’m a trust fund kid,” he explained, already in front of the fridge.

“Of course you are,” Stiles said more to himself than Derek as he touched the marble countertop in the kitchen area. “You drive a Camaro, what did I expect?”

“Are you judging me?” There might be a hint of disappointed in Derek’s question. He was handing Stiles a cold beer, but his shoulders were all hunched up. It wasn’t the friendliest look on Derek, which made Stiles regret saying things the way he did.

“No,” Stiles told him with candor, “I think you’re brilliant, so at least the money isn’t going to waste on you. Do you live with Cora?”

Derek seemed to loosen up a little and Stiles congratulated himself for his excellent choice of diction.

“She wants to be associated with me as little as possible, so she’s got her own dorm room with her friends from high-school and I got this,” he gestured around.

Stiles climbed on one of the high chairs in the kitchen and decided not to tell him that some people in their thirties don’t have houses half as big as his apartment.

“How much is the rent?”

“No rent. It was my parents’. Well, my grandparents’. My parents ran a wolf sanctuary back home, in Beacon Hills. The place cost me nothing, but the water bill, though, it’s through the roof. I need to stop taking long showers I guess.”

Stiles definitely didn’t need the visual of Derek showering. Sometimes he thought Derek knew exactly what he was talking about, saying all the right kinds of things just to get to Stiles. 

He did notice the use of the past auxiliary verb.

“Was?” he asked softly.

Derek looked out the window. He looked older then, his features more prominent _._ It was just for a split second, but Stiles didn’t miss it. “They’re gone now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied, suddenly cheery again. “So, you hungry?”

“Always. I’m growing, so it comes without saying that I’m always hungry,” Stiles answered, patting his stomach.

“Well, you can watch something on TV and I’ll cook something up for you,” he pointed towards the living room area. “There are DVDs on the bottom drawer.”

Stiles hopped down from the chair and walked to the sink. “It’s alright, I can help you.”

“Can you cook?”

“Probably better than you,” he countered.

“Really? We’ll see.” Derek bumped his shoulder as he joined Stiles by the sink and washed his hands alongside him.

Stiles took some paper towel to dry his hands and opened the fridge, looking for anything he can use to make some stir-fry, which was basically the only thing that he could cook without executing anyone’s taste buds. 

“You don’t have any vegetables in your fridge.”

“I’m not a big fan of vegetables,” Derek said from behind him.

“What are you, five years old?”

“At heart,” he put his right hand on his chest. “I always buy the juice kind they sell at the supermarket. Like broccoli and other nasty things combined together. I just drink those, it’s faster and easier and doesn’t make me want to puke as much as the real thing.”

Stiles finally found Derek’s flaw.

“You’re just cooking it wrong. I’ll prove it to you sometime.”

That sounded like a promise, which Stiles oddly intended to keep. It gave the impression that this, them cooking, would be a recurring event instead of a one-time thing. For the first time, Stiles didn’t feel discomfort picturing the two of them in the future.

“I have pasta!” Derek exclaimed as he rummaged through the drawers on top of the stove. “Ooh and carbonara sauce!” 

He pulled out the container from the shelf to show Stiles, grinning proudly as if he’s discovered the recipe to it instead of just simply locating it.

“Okay, let’s go with that. I’m betting that you also have bacon somewhere.”

“Yep, here,” he showed him.

They bantered back and forth while they cook and it turned out that Derek was even more hungry than Stiles because as soon as the food was ready, they stopped talking and focused their respective attention on getting as much pasta in their mouths as fast as possible.

“We should do this more often,” Derek said when they’re finished. “It’s nice not eating alone.”

“It’s nice not eating ramen,” Stiles agreed.

Derek got up and picked up Stiles’ plate along with his, placing them carefully in the dishwasher.

“You eat ramen often and you’re scolding me about vegetables?”

Stiles shrugged. It was a bit hypocritical, but he’d never admit that in front of Derek. “I’ve just been running on it this past week, there’s a lot of projects and assignments, they’re just piling up.”

Derek watched him for a moment. “You okay though?”

It was the way he said it that hit Stiles the most. It was the thoughtfulness. People say things like that to each other all the time, but it’s rare that they meant it, that they might react differently to different answers to that question. Stiles knew, somehow, that if he said he wasn’t okay, Derek wouldn’t just say ‘I’m sorry, you'll feel better soon’ and be done with it. He would do something to change that.

“I am, thanks. However, I do have an 8 AM class tomorrow, so I gotta bounce.”

Stiles stood up and grabbed his bag from the counter.

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you let yourself relax and be a college student,” Derek observed.

“How’s that?”

“You just used the word ‘bounce’,” he pointed out.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Thanks for dinner.”

He walked himself to the door as Derek watched. He’s already got his hand on the knob when Derek asked him yet another question, “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he stated.

Derek tilted his head to one side, then made his way to the door. “I’ll take you.”

Stiles blocked the exit with his body, looking up at Derek. He was close to him now. Maybe a little too close. He was close enough for Stiles to smell his Armani aftershave.

“Are you saying you don’t think I can defend myself from any danger that might present itself on my way from here to my dorm which is only twenty minutes away on feet?” Stiles asked him.

Derek scoffed and slipped his hand behind Stiles’ back to reach the doorknob. It felt like he was holding Stiles by the waist instead and Stiles couldn’t decide in that moment whether he liked the feeling or not.

“I’m saying it will only take five minutes for me to drop you off there and it will ease my conscience by, like, _a lot_.”

He opened the door and let Stiles walked out first.

* * *

They hanged out more often from the night they had dinner forward, but nothing extraordinary happened. They settled into a routine, or at least Stiles did. Classes, coffee, texts. Rinse and repeat. Somewhere along the way, Stiles learned that the cigarette Derek smoked was the same brand his dad used to, and he smoked when he needed to be reminded of him. There might be some calls here and there on quiet nights, asking each other what they were up to, if they were busy or if the other wanted to come over for food and companionship in general. But that was about it.

It was so mundane, what they were doing, that it didn’t prepare Stiles for Derek showing up in his building in the middle of the night without warning. Maybe it was the fact that he looked like a mess that caught Stiles off-guard. Or maybe it was the strong smell of booze and weed in the air around him.

“You’re drunk,” Stiles observed, leaning against his doorframe.

Derek looked at him, but his eyes were glazed over. “That,” he pointed his index fingers at Stiles, “I am.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, gave the cab driver the wrong address?”

“What happened to your car?”

Derek groaned. He’s had enough of this questions, Stiles could tell. He leaned his forehead on the wall next to Stiles’ door.

“I wasn’t going to drive it knowing that I’d be sufficiently _hammered_ before the night ends.”

“You went out on a school night, with the sole purpose of getting shit-faced, and now you’re here in my room,” Stiles recapped. “Why?”

Derek didn’t answer. He just looked at Stiles.

“I’ll—“ he started, then just as abruptly: “I need to puke.”

“Jesus, Derek.”

Stiles let him in. He would’ve let him in eventually, he wasn’t heartless. There was no possible scenario in which he’d let Derek fend for himself and send him home. If the state he was in was any indication, it’s one of the nights he shouldn’t be left alone.

Derek puked. And puked. Changed into Stiles’ clothes and puked again. Stiles held his shirt back while he bent over the toilet and kept the glasses of water coming for him. He finally passed out about an hour and a half after he came. It wasn’t exactly how Stiles imagine Derek’s first time sleeping in his bed would look like.

He put a blanket over Derek and slept on the couch. He had a hard time falling asleep but he figured it was more about the person in his bedroom than the hard cushion of the couch. Naturally, he woke up first in the morning and decided to brew a pot of coffee.

When he entered his room, he had expected to find Derek still knocked out cold, but instead he was already dressed back in his jacket and pants, ready to flee the place. Derek noticed him entering the room. Stiles put down the cup of coffee he wanted to wake Derek up with on top of the dresser.

Derek stood up, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I’m so sorry about how I behaved last night. I was awful and I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t even know why I ask the driver to take me to your place.”

“How about you start by explaining what happened?” Stiles sat on the bed, half-hoping Derek would join him and not stand in his room like something out of this world that didn’t quite belong there.

Derek shoved his hand into his pockets, nervous. “I don’t really have an explanation.”

“Oh, bullshit. I didn’t have to let you in, but I did anyway. I took care of you while you vomit all over the sink and then the toilet, lent you my shirt which you eventually dribbled all over. You owe me one. The least you can do is tell me what’s going on.”

Stiles knew he was demanding something Derek most probably couldn’t give him, but it was worth a shot trying to coax the answer out of him anyway.

But Derek shook his head and started pacing around the room, frantic. Stiles understood then that he shouldn’t push the matter.

“I can’t. Not right now, please,” he pleaded.

Stiles stood up, seized Derek’s wrist to stop him from moving and took Derek’s face in his hands. His green eyes were wild, but the panic in them dissipated after a moment.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, “but eventually—“

“Yes. Yes to eventually.”

He released Derek’s face and let his hands fall to his sides. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but Derek didn’t slap his hands away or flinched, so he took that as a good sign.

He handed Derek the coffee. “Do you want some aspirin?”

“No, I think I should go.”

“I’m not kicking you out on an empty stomach when you’re hungover,” he sighed. “I’ll make you an omelet.”

Stiles motioned Derek to follow him towards the kitchen and he did. 

There wasn’t much conversation between the two of them that morning. Derek went home quietly. They didn’t make any promises to each other. They didn’t say ‘I’ll see you soon,’ although if Stiles had known then what was about to come, he wish he had made Derek take an oath that he would call, at the very least.

* * *

Stiles didn’t hear from Derek over the next couple weeks. He didn’t show up to any of his classes and when Stiles bumped into Cora, she gave him a vague answer that didn’t make much of a difference. _He’s on personal leave._ Not a single text message, either. It had been sixteen days, Stiles counted, when Derek finally showed his face.

There was a knock on his door and Stiles tried ignoring it until it went away on its own because he didn’t order any delivery and was too lazy to entertain guests. He definitely wasn’t distraught by a certain case of a missing person.

The knocking turned into banging. Stiles couldn’t ignore it then, his neighbors might feel disturbed.

He made himself walked to the door and swung it open.

“Oh, you’ve got to stop doing this.”

Derek was wearing a black shirt that clung to his skin because he was completely drenched from head to toe. He was wearing one shoe and holding the other upside down with stream of water coming out of it.

“I was walking and it rained halfway here! It’s not like I planned on showing up here completely messed up.”

_It’s not like you’ve never done that before,_ Stiles thought.

He pulled the door toward him until it was only half-open, blocking the way in with his body. On one side, he was glad to see Derek alive and seemingly in one piece, but on the other side he felt… angry? Maybe hurt is a more accurate word to describe what he was feeling.

“I haven’t seen or heard from you for two weeks and now this?”

“This time, I have an explanation.”

“And one for the other time, too?” he demanded.

“Yes, but can I please not stand another minute out in the cold? I can already feel the flu coming.”

Stiles sighed. His frustration was justified and if Derek hadn’t just been in the rain for what looked like at least 10 minutes, he might have slammed the door on his face and ignore him for another two weeks just because he felt like being petty.

But he didn’t.

He let Derek in, threw a towel at him, put a clean blanket in the dryer, and went to get some change of clothes for him. Derek changed in his room and Stiles handed him the warm blanket. He cocooned himself and sat on the couch. Stiles watched him, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Derek stared at Stiles from his blanket fortress. Stiles didn’t say anything. He kept on staring. Stiles turned around and started to make two glass of hot cocoa.

“I went home,” Derek finally said from behind him. “To see my sister. My older sister, Laura. Not Cora, obviously, ‘cause she’s here with me. Which you know.”

Stiles nodded. “To the wolf sanctuary?”

“Yes, the family’s expanding. They have five new pups and they’re catastrophic.”

“How’s Laura?”

“She’s good. She only slapped me twice the whole time I was there, so that’s a good sign.”

Stiles threw him a quick glance over his shoulders. “I’m… glad?”

“It was my parents’ death anniversary that night,” he suddenly confessed. Stiles turned around to look at him in the eyes, he didn’t want to miss Derek opening up to him. He didn’t want to downplay the significance of the moment. 

“They died when I was twelve and Laura seventeen. Our uncle, who wanted my grandparents’ inheritance, set the house on fire with them inside it. Laura wasn’t home, luckily she sneaked out to hang with her friends. Cora and I, we fell asleep at the den after checking on the wolves. We watched the house went up in flames. Well, I did most of the watching… I covered her eyes. My palms were wet with her tears afterward.”

Stiles watched the storm of expression that passed through Derek’s face as he talked. Anger, confusion, sorrow. It hurt him to see Derek hurting, but he knew the best thing he could do in that moment was to listen to what Derek had to say.

“I felt like shit during the day but at least I was around people, then the sun set and I had no reasons not to bawl my eyes out and grief like a fucking lunatic, which I guess I did. I still don’t know why I came to you, though. Maybe I feel comfortable here,” he closed his eyes and reopened them.

“Anyway, I shouldn’t have dragged you into my shit show, so I’m sorry. Again. It feels like I say that so much it’s losing meaning but I’ve got nothing else to say.”

“I’m so sorry, about your parents. You shouldn’t have to go through that. I hope your uncle is rotting in prison for what he did,” Stiles said. He meant it, too. 

“On the other hand, I’m happy that you felt you can come here when you need to, which you’re absolutely welcome to do. I just… don’t do that often, okay? Like, come before you actually get to the fucked up part. Before you want to go and self-destruct, you come here first.”

Derek didn’t even hesitate. “Capiche.”

Stiles got up, moved to the kitchen counter get the hot chocolates. “So why did you decide to go home?”

He sipped some of it, trying to determine if the taste was acceptable to give to Derek.

“I wanted to ask Laura’s permission to talk about our parents to someone outside the family. I told her that I found someone I finally want to confide in and then I explained to her what happened that night. The night I’d really rather forget about. That was the first slap. I admitted that I liked you for quite some time now and hadn’t done anything about it. That was the other slap.”

He handed Derek his glass and sat down next to him on the couch.

“You like me?” he asked him.

Derek huffed out a laugh and rested his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder. He opened the blanket and pulled Stiles in, wrapping it around their bodies. The blanket wasn’t as warm anymore, though Stiles could never tell with Derek’s body pressed against his.

“Duh, Mieczyslaw, you’re so slow.”

“You pronounced that correctly,” Stiles remarked.

“Practice makes perfect.”

“You practice saying my name?”

The thought of it made Stiles extremely happy that it was borderline ridiculous. Derek put so much effort towards one thing that Stiles barely liked about himself, but he apparently appreciated.

“I’ve got some free time on my hands while I was out in the woods. There’s no reception there.”

_Hence the lack of communication_ , Stiles thought.

“Derek Hale, you’re a dork.”

Derek nuzzled against him and Stiles might’ve heard a muffled, “A dork who really wants to kiss you right now,” though he wasn’t sure.

So he asked.

“Are you drunk?”

Derek sat up straight and stared Stiles, unyielding. “No.”

“Are you… high?”

“Not tonight,” he said sincerely.

It was Stiles’ turn to press his face against Derek’s cheeks, giving him small nudges. “Then I wouldn’t object to being kissed.”

He rested his forehead on Derek’s and smiled. Derek, whose entire being oozed confidence since the first time Stiles met him, suddenly had a bashful look on his face. Stiles leaned forward and Derek met him half-way. It was chaste, at first, then Stiles nipped on Derek’s bottom lip and they ended up falling back on the couch.

Stiles kissed Derek’s nose, then eyelids, before finally moving away from him. They stared at the ceiling for awhile.

And then, Derek gasped out a “Jesus, you… I… have you done that before?” like he had just finished processing what happened between them.

“I’m a nerd, not a celibate priest,” Stiles laughed. “But no, not like that. Never like that.”

“You tasted like chocolate milk. But also, like you. I don’t know if that makes sense. Ugh.” 

Derek rubbed his face at his incoherency. Stiles thought it was utterly adorable.

He reached out to hold Derek’s hand. “It doesn’t, but I get what you mean.”

They fell asleep on the couch that night and woke up the next morning aching all over. They couldn’t care less, they were happy and sated. They stayed on the couch for a while before Derek stomach growled and made it obvious that they need some food in their system. Granted, it was only frozen pancakes and milk because Stiles didn’t have much in his pantry.

They jumped back in bed as soon as they finished eating and what started with Stiles tracing Derek’s collarbone and his arms and Derek’s running his fingers through Stiles’ hair turned into something a whole lot steamier.

In the middle of their make-out session, Stiles had an epiphany.

“God, my friends are going to have a field day when they find out,” he breathed out.

Derek held him by the shoulders and pushed him away.

“I’d really not talk about your friends when your hand is on my crotch, thanks,” he gave Stiles a weird look.

Stiles dived back in, not wanting to stop. He continued latching his lips to the spot just underneath Derek’s ear.

“Shut up,” he said against Derek's skin.

Derek laughed and let his hand rest on Stiles’ bare waist, but then, he seemed to have a realisation about something else entirely. “Hey, I never knew you liked me.”

This time, Stiles did stop.

“You’re joking. I’m like a teenage girl around you. _I_ never knew you liked _me_ ,” he countered.

“Bullshit!” Derek exclaimed. “You were unreadable. And what do you mean you never knew? What, before last night?”

“Yeah. I mean, I never really knew. It was unclear to me.”

Derek rolled on top of Stiles and pinned him, his hands holding Stiles’ wrist to keep him in place.

”Your head is as thick as concrete, that’s why. I bought you coffee,” he tightened his hold, pushing Stiles down onto the bed. “I texted you almost every day, sometimes about silly shit just because I felt like talking to you,” he did it again. “I invited you over,” and again, “cooked dinner for you,” and again, “drove you home… that’s as good as a date. Had I have done it for a girl, it’d be automatically translated as romantic, wouldn’t you say?”

Stiles’ eyes widened. Derek remembered.

“Oooooh, you’re using my words against me!” Stiles tried to wriggle his way out of Derek’s lock on him, but to no avail.

“I know. Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

“For the record, you didn’t cook me dinner. We cooked together,” Stiles said, indignant.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Is that really for the record?”

“No, sorry, that just supported your point even more. I didn’t know what the hell I was saying.”

Derek released his wrists and dipped down to kiss Stiles on the mouth. As soon as their lips touched, Stiles forgot what was so important that they took a pause from doing this in the first place.

 

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE: SIX MONTHS LATER**

 

Summer came around and Derek took Stiles to Beacon Hills to met the wolves, and more importantly, Laura. Cora wasn’t too happy about being stuck in the backseat of the Camaro because Stiles got ahead and called shotgun, but just like any other child in the kindergarten, all Stiles had to do to win her over is to buy her some sweets. Derek even invited Stiles’ dad to come with them, but the Sheriff couldn’t leave his job long enough to take a vacation. Derek compromised, promising him—Stiles’ dad, not Stiles himself—that they would spend the last week of summer in Stiles’ childhood home, in which time he would be free to tell Derek all of Stiles’ secrets.

Laura liked him, or at least that’s how Stiles thought she felt. When Derek left them to put their bags in his room, she did asked Stiles not to hurt him unless he wanted to be the served to the wolves. Stiles didn’t know whether she was joking or not, but he told her he would never do anything that could possibly hurt her little brother. She had searched his face for a moment, then decided he was being truthful enough.

Cora just snickered at their interaction, but Laura got friendlier from that point on.

One week into their stay in the sanctuary, Derek woke up and got dressed at five in the morning, telling Stiles that he wanted to visit his parents. Stiles watched him put on his clothes and did nothing more because he thought it was something Derek wanted and needed to do on his own. 

Derek didn’t immediately leave after he finished. He sat down on the bed, his old bed that they were sharing for the length of their stay, and gave Stiles a small kiss on the forehead.

Then he asked him, “You want to come with me to their grave?”

Stiles sat up in record time. “I’d love that.”

It didn’t take Stiles long to put on his pants and jackets as Derek helped him with it. They held hands as Derek navigated them through the woods until they came to a gravesite. They stopped in front of Derek’s parent’s grave. His parents were buried together in one grave, Derek told him before, so that they wouldn’t be separated even in death. Derek exhaled a long breath and for a second Stiles thought Derek was going to let go of his hands. 

He didn’t. He squeezed it instead and motioned for Stiles to talk first.

Stiles took a deep breath and began, “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Hale. I’m actually quite nervous because this is the first time someone’s brought me home to meet their parents. I want to thank you for bringing this wonderful young man into the world because he’s made me so much happier than I ever imagined I could be. I know you’ll be proud to see what kind of person he’s become. Anyway, you needn’t worry about him anymore, I promise that I’ll take care of him as long as he’ll have me. I’m making progress forcing him to eat more greens with each passing day, so there’s that. Just last week he asked me to make him my famous stir-fry vegetables without me offering it first. Also, Laura and the sanctuary are fine. Cora is feisty as always, I’m afraid there’s a possibility she has joined a fight club. I think that’s all the update I have for you.”

Derek pulled on his hand then but didn’t let go of Stiles. He brought both of his hands to his face and used them to wipe his eyes.

Stiles was horrified, he didn’t mean to sadden Derek. He also didn’t want to be served as dinner tonight.

“Baby, why are you crying?” Stiles asked him softly, carefully.

“Whatthehell was that,” Derek blurted out. “You attacked my emotions.”

Stiles should be given credit for not laughing at this.

“I attacked your emotions? Really?”

“Never rat me out about my red meat diet ever again,” he pointed at Stiles with his free hand.

Stiles smiled and squeezed his hand. “Deal. Okay, your turn.”

“Mom, Dad. I found somebody I love this year,” Stiles looked up at the word ‘love’, but Derek was staring at the gravestone, solemn. “And he’s the best. Even the wolves know it. That’s basically the highlight of my year. I wish you could get to know him because I’m sure before long you would start to gang up on me about everything. I miss you.”

“You love me?” Stiles asked.

“I do.”

He said it with conviction like it was the absolute truth. Stiles believed him, if not because of his tone, then because of the look on his face when he turned around to face Stiles.

“I love you, too,” Stiles admitted.

He grinned. “I know.”

Derek Han Solo-ed Stiles and he only loved him more for it. He felt tears, then, coming out from the corner of his eyes, involuntarily. “You attacked my emotions,” Stiles protested.

Derek kissed him on the lips and laughed mirthfully, “It’s called payback, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this! comments are highly appreciated


End file.
